


Calling Shotgun

by ninemoons42



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Beer, Blow Jobs, Cigarettes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42





	Calling Shotgun

  
title: Calling Shotgun  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
word count: 1058  
fandom / pairing: McFassy [yes actually I went ahead and did it /o\ \o/]  
rating: NC-17  
notes: Written at the instigation of my evil and beloved [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/photoclerk/profile)[**photoclerk**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/photoclerk/) , [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/metacheese/profile)[**metacheese**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/metacheese/) , and [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/withlightning/profile)[**withlightning**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/withlightning/) , who told me exactly what shotgunning is and how James and Michael would look doing it!

  
"Ugh, longest. Day. Ever," James said as they walked over to the bike. He'd zipped his jacket up partway as they walked out, and now he was rummaging in his pockets for his lighter. "Bum a fag?"

"You, too, huh," Michael said as he extracted his cigarettes from his pockets. His voice was completely hoarse. "Bloody commentary tracks. I've never had to do one like that before."

"I have," James said, his accent becoming even more pronounced even as it slid partway into a whine. "And every fuckin' time I promise myself I'll say no next time, and yet, and yet." The cigarette flared into life and he put it to his lips, took a deep drag. "Aaaaahh. Okay, where're we drinking tonight? We certainly deserve it, after all that talking."

"I know, that's why there's a six-pack with our names on it in my room," Michael offered, and he almost immediately took a step back, laughing, "Whoa!"

"Beer!" James was saying, jumping right into his personal space.

That cigarette bobbing between his lips, those fisted hands banging lightly on his shoulders. Michael quickly lit another cigarette off the end of his first and threw his helmet at James, swung one leg over the bike, and started the engine. That deep-throated purr, the warmth of James's arms around his waist.

At least he had the good sense to keep the complaining down once they were in the hotel room, Michael thought, watching as James eyed the six-pack greedily. He looked up at the ceiling and got on the chair next to the bureau, disabled the smoke alarm with practiced ease. Why he was still being booked onto non-smoking floors he had no idea.

"Picked that up from Erik, eh?" James snorted as he popped open a can.

"Please, I learned how to do that almost as soon as I started out," Michael laughed, swigging from his own beer.

"Lucky for us then." James produced a new pack of cigarettes from his pockets - "What? I bought it while you were parking the bike" - and offered Michael one.

But Michael was watching the playful light in his eyes and so he simply grinned to himself, and carefully turned one of the cans onto its side. "Knife - you're not fooling me, you're carrying that damn flick knife in your pockets, gimme."

James laughed and tossed the knife over, and Michael quickly cut a neat triangular hole in the can.

"Hey, do this one, too," James said, and he took the second can from his hands and gave it the same treatment.

"Fastest one wins?"

"Wins what?"

"We're not expected until late tomorrow," Michael laughed, waggling his eyebrows at James. "I'm sure we can think of something."

"Yeah?"

And _fuck_ but Michael knew that dark edge to James's smile all too well, and it was disturbing how quickly he could make him drop his own scruples.

And right now he didn't actually give a flying fuck.

"Yeah." And with that he was watching his own hands raising the punctured can to his lips, he was watching himself pop off the tab and he was swallowing his beer as fast as he could. Cold drip of beer down his throat, James's laughter, and he when he slammed his empty can down on the table he was just a beat too late.

And there was James smirking at him, a new cigarette already smoking in his fingers, and there was that challenge in those eyes. "You lose," James said, unnecessarily. "Your forfeit?"

"Gimme that," Michael said, and he guided James's hand so that he could take a deep drag. Still with his hand around James's wrist, he tilted his head back and blew out a perfect smoke ring.

 _"Shit,"_ James was saying, and then he had a lapful of him, and that talented mouth was crashing down onto him. Smoke and alcohol and those licorice candies he preferred, the heady buzz of need that never failed to just _get_ him. Michael deliberately shifted James on his lap, grinned at the answering growl.

"Asshole," James laughed as he pushed him away. "At least let me put this thing down before we wind up burning ourselves. Not fuckin' sexy at all unless you're into it."

"I've never tried it," Michael said. "You?"

"Nope," and James dropped the cigarette into the beer can he'd shotgunned.

Michael smiled and tilted his head back when James wound his hands into his hair. He couldn't stop himself from sighing when James ran his tongue over his throat. "You're going to be the fucking death of me, McAvoy."

"Oh yeah? Then I won't say the same for you, Fassbender, you've got a big enough ego as it is."

There was nothing for it but to shut him up, and as they kissed Michael ran his hands down over James's shoulders, pushing off his jacket. He watched James undo the buttons of his shirt and shrug out of that, as well, and Michael couldn't get out of his own shirts fast enough.

He was about to get out of his too-tight jeans when a hard hand landed on his wrist, and there was James suddenly on his knees in front of him, hot breath at his fly, and that was just the point where his brain stopped functioning, stuck on the same question: _Where the hell did he learn how to do that?_ The world narrowing down to James's mouth, his _tongue_ , his dark hair standing up where Michael was holding on to him.

And James writhing on the floor underneath him, fighting against the hands that were holding him down. His accent growing darker and darker as he groaned out obscenities. Every repetition of "Michael" like a lightning strike down his own singing nerves. His mouth still working over James's cock, Michael only just remembered in time to clamp his hand down over James's reddened mouth to muffle his screams as he came, and he nearly screamed himself when James ran his tongue over his palm.

After, he watched James slowly get up and crawl over to him, let out a soft grunt as James dropped mostly onto his chest and shoulder. He wasn't surprised to find himself putting his arms around him, wasn't surprised to feel James scattering kisses over his skin.

He had it bad for James; he didn't really need anyone to tell him that. It was just a fortunate thing that James seemed to have it just as bad for him.  



End file.
